The Prisoner Bride

by Susan Spencer Paul

  “How dare you go through my things!” she shouted at him, almost loudly enough to be heard over the noise of the tavern.

  Kieran set a finger to his lips. “Hush, lest you wake your maid.”

  “I care not if she wakes!” she said furiously, holding up the glowing rock and the chess piece. “What do you mean by stealing my things? You gave me your word of honor that we’d be safe in this chamber, that we’d have naught to fear.”

  “And so it is,” Kieran said, growing angered as well at having his honor questioned. He was a knave and a thief, i’faith, but he held his vows as dearly as any knight of the realm might do. “I’ve stolen nothing of yours, and I merely came to make certain that all was well, that you and your maid had every comfort.” He moved closer, meeting her angry glare from his superior height. “And what do I find but that your cloak is awash with light—because of that small stone that was nearly stolen from you earlier. When I think back on it now, ’tis no great mystery that you trembled so fiercely once it was returned to you. ’Twas not weariness that weakened you, but the fear of having so precious and strange an object taken.”

  “Nay,” she said tartly, “’twas the gladness of having it back.” She held her open palm out toward him, holding the objects almost beneath his nose. “Would you wish anyone to find such as these upon you? A glowing stone, most especially? Would you?”

  No, he wouldn’t, Kieran admitted silently, but he wasn’t related to a family rife with sorcerers.

  “’Tis some kind of magic,” he said. “You can’t deny the truth of that.”

  She frowned at him darkly, drawing her hand away. “I do deny it. This stone glows merely because it possesses the elements to do so. ’Tis no different than coal that burns with fire, or a diamond that gives back colored light.”

  Kieran shook his head. “There is more. Look.” He reached out to pinch a bit of her surcoat between two fingers. “Your clothes are dry. Your cloak is dry. Yet two hours past you were wet through to your skin.” He reached up to touch a rope of her braided hair. Your locks are still wet.” He grabbed one of her hands—the empty one—and pressed it against his tunic. “I’m still wet, even though I’ve been sitting before a hot fire. But your clothes are dry, and I’d wager any amount you please that your maid’s are dry as well. If this is not sorcery, Mistress Glenys, then I pray you’ll tell me what it is.”

  Her expressive face, so clearly lit by the glowing stone, filled with that same measure of disdain that had earlier made him so maddened.

  “I am your prisoner, Kieran FitzAllen. Unless you mean to beat me, I will tell you naught.”

  She turned away and picked up her fallen cloak, finding the inner pockets and pushing the stone and lady chess piece deeply into one of them. The light in the chamber dimmed with the absence of the stone, while the cloak took up its eerie illumination once more.

  Carrying the cloak with her, Glenys returned to her pallet, saying nothing more to Kieran as she lay down with the garment safe in her arms.

  He stood for a few moments in the dimly lit chamber, listening to the noise of the tavern beyond, the shouts and laughter. Mistress Glenys lay turned away from him, her face to the wall, her form and features brightly lined by the luminous cloak. Her face was set, angry, as hard and immovable as stone. The next few months, Kieran thought with a sigh, would be long indeed. He remembered with fleeting humor how only hours before Jean-Marc had predicted that Mistress Glenys would fall in love with him, and Kieran himself had agreed. How very wrong they had been. But they had far more to worry over now than simply whether their captives liked them. Now there was a strange, glowing stone, and an odd chess piece, and all manner of unexplained sorcery. These things they hadn’t planned on, and the fact of them left Kieran fully discomfited. He could ready himself for Mistress Glenys’s angry brother, but how could he defend himself against magic?

  Chapter Six

  “Shh.” Glenys set a finger to her lips and gave Dina a warning look. “We must be as quiet as possible. Do you have all your things?”

  Dina nodded, looking longingly at the window. “Can we not go that way? I’m sure ’tis not too far to the ground, and then none would see us.”

  Glenys gave a shake of her head as she set her cloak about her shoulders, deftly tying it.

  “There’s no need to trouble ourselves so. They’re all soundly sleeping in the tavern. No one is sensible enough to either see or hear us pass by—if we are quiet. Come now, let us gird our loins and proceed without fear.” She patted Dina reassuringly on the shoulder. “The worst that can happen is that we’ll be caught, and the best is that we’ll get safe away.” She straightened and drew in a deep breath, setting a hand in her cloak pocket to find the stone and chess piece safely there. The bag with Uncle Aonghus’s powder in it was tied securely to her girdle. With a nod of determination, Glenys moved toward the chamber door. “I only pray we’ll find where the horses are kept without any difficulty. If not, we must walk all the way back to London.”

  She opened the door slowly, thankful that it made no noise as it swung upon its giant hinges. Sticking her head out into the short passageway beyond, she looked in all directions before stepping out and waving for Dina to follow. Three footsteps brought them to the top of the short stairway that led to the farthest corner of the tavern. The entrance to the stairway was hidden by a well-worn tapestry, and it was at this that Glenys paused again, carefully moving the tapestry an inch to peer into the tavern beyond.

  The sights and smells that greeted her went far beyond what she had expected, but she managed to keep any sound of disgust at bay. A great celebration had clearly taken place during the hours of the night and early morn, and now all those who’d participated paid the price. Bodies were strewn all about the large room, lying here and there on the tables, in chairs, even upon the filthy rushes, in drunken slumber. Several lay with their mouths agape, snoring loudly, but clearly waking none. Some were partly or wholly unclothed, both men and women, their bare flesh pale and chilled in the cold early morn. Empty and half-filled tankards and goblets were littered everywhere, and the smells of the stale, sour libations and sooty smoke were strong enough to make one unused to them swoon. Glenys’s stomach clenched uneasily, and she longed to be outdoors in the fresh, cold air.

  Pushing down the fear that threatened to turn her back, she stepped past the tapestry and into the tavern itself and gazed about, looking for signs of movement from any corner. There were none, and she took two more steps farther into the room. Behind her, she could hear Dina quietly following.

  “Where’s Kieran FitzAllen?” the maid whispered near Glenys’s shoulder.

  “I don’t see him,” Glenys murmured, looking everywhere for a head of golden-brown hair. Kieran FitzAllen was far too distinctive a man to be missed, even amongst such a tumble of bodies. He wasn’t in the tavern, and neither, that she could see, was his manservant, Jean-Marc, or even Bostwick, whose large size certainly made him unmistakable.

  “Perhaps they’ve left without us,” Dina said in hushed tones.

  Glenys shook her head. “Nay. They’re with the whores, mostlike, in the other chamber. Come.”

  They said nothing more as they slowly and carefully picked their way through the litter of bodies, being very certain not to step on a stray hand or foot. Once or twice someone grumbled in his sleep and rolled over, nearly causing Glenys’s heart to stop, but each time the sleeper only continued in his slumbers, while Glenys and Dina continued on their course to freedom.

  They came to the large wooden door that served as the entryway to the tavern, and Glenys stopped.

  “This isn’t right,” she murmured, touching the latch, which wasn’t thrown. “Surely they were not so drunk that they failed to latch the door. God’s mercy.” She turned and looked about the disorderly room again. “He must be awake and aware that we seek to escape. The door would not be open if he was not already outside, waiting for us. ’Tis a trap he’s set, curse the man!”
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br />   “But, mistress,” Dina whispered, touching Glenys’s sleeve, “mayhap ’twas only left unlatched because all within were too drunk to care. Why should thieves care for such as that, anywise?”

  Glenys made a snorting sound, uncaring now who heard her, though none stirred. “Why should they not?” She set her hand to the door handle. “Well, if Master FitzAllen waits without, we must not keep him. Let us by all means greet him good morn.”

  She flung the door wide and stomped outside, fully expecting to find Kieran FitzAllen and Jean-Marc awaiting them with those knowing, foolish grins upon their faces.

  But no one was there. Anywhere.

  The tavern yard was empty, and she was greeted by nothing more sinister than the cold, crisp early morn, only just now being touched by the light of the dawning sun. The surrounding trees were yet damp with rain, but the day itself would be clear, once the sun rose high.

  The air was clean and fresh, and Glenys drew in a long, welcome breath, striving to banish the smells of the tavern behind her. Dina made matters even more final by shutting the door softly upon all inside—people, foul smells and smoky darkness.

  “Mayhap there is still a chance,” Glenys murmured, grasping Dina’s arm and pulling her across the muddy yard toward what must be the animal shed. “Please, God, let it be so.”

  It was all so incredibly simple that Glenys could scarce believe they’d actually done it. The two horses, among other cattle, were indeed in the shed, and Glenys saddled and made them ready as quickly as possible. Jean-Marc’s mare, a steely tempered gray, made her displeasure at being handled by a stranger well known, but the satiny black destrier, Nimrod, stood quietly beneath Glenys’s ministrations. He was as handsome as his master, but so large of frame that she was forced to use a stool to get the reins over his ears.

  It took longer to mount the horses, especially when Jean-Marc’s mare was so stubborn about accepting Dina as a rider, but at last the two women guided their mounts out of the shed and into the tavern yard itself. Here, Glenys ran into trouble.

  “Come, you wretched beast!” She set the heels of her soft boots into Nimrod’s flanks, but he gave no response. She pulled on his reins to lead him toward the yard gate, but he refused to obey. Instead, with Jean-Marc’s horse following, he began to walk calmly and slowly toward the side of the tavern…exactly to the place where his master, Kieran FitzAllen, stood waiting beneath the same window that belonged to the chamber Glenys and Dina had shared. Jean-Marc stood with him, and both men, who had been in the midst of deep conversation, looked satisfyingly astonished at the sudden appearance of their horses, being ridden by their prisoners, coming directly toward them.

  Kieran gave a shout of surprise, while Jean-Marc started forward in the direction of his surly mare. Glenys, not thinking upon what she did, pushed herself from the saddle and promptly fell gracelessly onto her backside in the mud. Nimrod, foolish horse, didn’t even pause, but continued plodding placidly toward his master.

  The great animal was like a wall between Glenys and her captor. All she could see of Kieran FitzAllen from where she sat were his legs. When those legs began to stride in her direction, Glenys pushed aside the momentary shock that had held her still and set herself into motion, leaping to her feet, lifting her skirts and running with every ounce of strength she possessed.

  Kieran FitzAllen shouted out again, running after her, while from the far corner of the tavern yard Dina uttered a soft cry as Jean-Marc, cursing, sought to grab the reins of his unhappy mare.

  Even as she ran, Glenys knew how foolish it was. She would be fortunate if she managed to reach the yard gate before Kieran FitzAllen caught her, but the sound of his booted feet drawing nearer only seemed to spur her on. Her skirts were heavy in her hands, and the cold morning air caused her lungs to ache and burn with each frantic breath she drew.

  “Mistress!” he shouted out, right behind her. She could feel his hand on her shoulder, his fingers closing on the wool of her cloak.

  “Nay!” she cried as he finally grasped it tightly, bringing her to a halt, but not managing to stop the weight of his own body as he hurtled forward. They collided and fell together in a tangle upon the cold, muddy ground, Glenys on the bottom, Kieran on top.

  She was nearly smothered in the wet dirt, and screamed furiously as the heavy brute squashed the breath out of her.

  “Off! Off!” she shouted, kicking and flinging her arms back in an attempt to elbow him away. He gasped as she at last struck him, already striving to lift himself off.

  The moment she felt the relief of his removed weight, Glenys flung herself over full force, grabbed the unsuspecting villain by his muscular shoulders and shoved him into the mud beside her.

  “Brute!” She shoved him down again when he tried to sit up, his handsome face filled with utter shock. Flinging herself atop him, she pinned him down. “Knave! Fiend! Wretch!”

  He tried to lift his mud-smeared head from the ground, but Glenys furiously pushed him down again.

  “How did you get out of the tavern?” he demanded, shouting just as loudly.

  She brought her face close to yell, “Through the front door!”

  “Through the…!” He set his hands on her shoulders to bring her even closer, until they were glaring eye to eye. “’Tis impossible!”

  “’Twas not impossible! I only wish to God above that we’d walked out of the yard rather than tried to take your lackwitted mounts! We’d be well on our way by now if we’d done so!” She wrenched herself free of his grip and sat up, wiping mud from her face.

  Kieran lay where he was and stared at her, shaking his head. “You walked through the door…when I was so certain you’d try to climb out the window. What kind of woman are you, walking out a front door as if you’d not be caught?”

  Glenys flung bits of mud from her fingertips, then gave him a look filled with disdain. “A woman who knows better than to climb out of a window where she would be expected to escape. I’m not so foolish to be so easily tricked.”

  “Nor am I,” he told her hotly. “I was mistaken in the manner in which you would make the attempt, but I knew you’d make it, despite the vow you made.”

  “I vowed that we’d not escape during the night,” she replied. “’Tis now morn.”

  “I understood full well what you meant when you made your promise. But I’ve just wasted the past three hours standing in the bitter cold, waiting for you to escape from the window.”

  He made it sound as if she’d deliberately striven to annoy him by not escaping as he’d thought she would and, heaven help her, Glenys began to feel amused. He lay before her, splayed out in the mud, looking so foolishly disgruntled at being deprived of the little victory he’d planned that it was all she could do not to laugh.

  “Don’t grin at me, Mistress Glenys Seymour,” he warned, pointing a finger at her. “I’ll not be made jest of, not after I’ve been nearly frozen to death because of you. And Jean-Marc with me.”

  It was impossible. She began to giggle, just thinking of them standing beneath that window for so long, waiting and planning and anticipating how amusing it would be to catch their two captives as they flung themselves from above. And then to be denied because those same captives had merely walked out the front door…Nay, ’twas far too silly. She began to laugh aloud.

  “There is no cause to make merry,” he said sternly. “You unfeeling, unnatural female. I’ve treated you well, and this is how you repay my kindness.”

  Glenys could scarcely breathe for laughing now. She leaned forward to place a hand in the mud, supporting herself as she gave way to her mirth.

  “Th-the window!” she said between gusts of laughter. “Y-you s-stood beneath the w-window! Waiting for us!” She laughed so hard that tears began to roll from her eyes.

  Kieran looked at her reproachfully. “You’re cruel,” he stated. “Cruel and heartless.”

  That only made Glenys laugh harder. Jean-Marc and Dina approached them from behind, and their mur
mured questions caused her to laugh all the more. And then, when she might have begun to calm, Kieran at last began to laugh. He chuckled at first, in a manner so low and constrained that it was obvious he was trying hard to stop. But then he gave way to the clear humor of the moment and began to laugh out loud, and all was lost. Glenys found herself lying flat against his chest, laughing as if she’d never stop, and Kieran set his arms about her to keep her from falling off, laughing just as uncontrollably.

  “God’s mercy,” Dina said to Jean-Marc. “They’ve gone mad.”

  Hearing that set Glenys and Kieran off into new gales of jollity, laughing so hard that Glenys thought she might be ill.

  It all came to an end at last, until they lay there in the mud, chuckling and sighing. Glenys felt weak as a newborn kitten when she finally pushed upward, and suddenly realized that she was sitting astride Kieran FitzAllen in a very unladylike manner.

  She looked down at herself in sudden horror, discovered that she was directly atop that most private area of his person, and leaped aside as if he were made of hot, glowing coals. Both she and Kieran stopped laughing, looked into each other’s faces for a long, silent moment…and started laughing all over again. Glenys had always held a perfect dread of even thinking upon a man’s body, yet now, having been in the closest sort of contact with such a body, she thought it the most humorous thing imaginable.

  Gads, she thought as she dragged herself to her feet—with a little help from both Dina and Jean-Marc. She must have lost all her senses. Beside her, Kieran lumbered to his feet as well, still chuckling.

  “We need a bath,” he said, looking first down at himself, then at Glenys.

  “Yes,” she agreed, grinning at him stupidly, “we do.”

  They began to laugh once more, to be interrupted with loud impatience by Dina, who took Glenys by the arm, and Jean-Marc, who took a firm grip upon his master.

  “Let us get them back to the inn before they do themselves a great injury,” Jean-Marc said above the grating humor. “God’s pity, look what they’ve done. The whole tavern’s come awake.”